


A Sky Full of Compassion

by Lots_of_Little_Pink_Clouds



Series: A Sky Full of Compassion [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Solas/Lavellan angst, Time Travel, just cause
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lots_of_Little_Pink_Clouds/pseuds/Lots_of_Little_Pink_Clouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.” – Khalil Gibran</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Broken Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE BE SPOILERS  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> Title: A Sky Full of Compassion  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Solas/F!Lavellan  
> Summary: “When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.” – Khalil Gibran
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> “I saw a dead bird flying through a broken sky. I heard it, and it said, ‘The world will never understand.’” – Nadège Richard, 5 Miles

The sky was in flames.

The massive green hole was a vortex, swirling ominously in the not so far distance. Its edges had no end, and its beginning was always the first thing that could draw one’s attention, even from far away. An endless pit of nothingness, just as endless, broad, and expansive its place (though not truly a place) of origin.

Solas had found himself staring at it, into it, unable to turn away. The sight had a strange allure, a complex and dangerous beauty. The air was thick with tension and… something more familiar and intimate. The magical residue was as if it was right in front of him, and it made him shudder in anticipation and delight.

While it had been many, many, many years since he had last felt or seen this, and while indeed the sight was marvelous, there was something horribly wrong. It had gone wrong, the pure and delicious magic being perverted for the simple avarice of a magister, and it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The Breach in question pulsed, expanding ever so slightly larger than it already was.

His eyes narrowed.

Indeed, it had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

The fact that the magister had survived the blast had been unexpected. He had predicted that Corypheus would die from the explosion, in addition to all of the others within the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Those lost within the Temple did not really concern him, other than the fact than it proved that Corypheus was stronger than he had first thought. What he was more concerned about, however, was the little elven girl that had also survived.

She was small, so small. Her hair was pure white and she had worn the garb of an elven servant. However, it was the markings that defined her face which signified her to be Dalish. The everlasting branches of Mythal, forever reaching outwards and to the sky above. The dark black ink made her easy to pick from a crowd, the permanent lines etched into her skin.

Her eyes were closed, as if she were asleep. But Solas knew that that assumption was far from the truth. The movement of her eyes, even while closed, indicated that she was dreaming. The Fade was a dangerous place to be, especially now. Her death was ensured, due to the Mark on her hand.  
Indeed, he doubted the woman would survive this sordid affair.

* * *

It was quiet, almost peaceful, as if the end of the world wasn’t happening at all. The snow continued to fall, the wind continued to blow, and the stars continued to shine, despite whatever the mortals said. However, one look at the sky above told him that the peacefulness was only an illusion. It was too quiet, too peaceful.

Everything was wrong. But it was close to being _right_.

The screams of dying soldiers, the sound of blade on blade echoed in the air around him. The magic on the air, some left over residue from the Rift before them was growing ever stronger the longer it remained open.

Bodies were strewed along the ground, tainting the white snow red with their excess blood. Those who were still alive were struggling, grasping to their lives with fervour.

A blast of cold, sharp ice froze an approaching shade. Then, with an expert twist of his staff, the Elvhen apostate shot a bolt of arcane magic at it, shattering the demon. Not too far away was a dwarf with no beard, Varric, he recalled, wielding a crossbow and aiming with a sort of aged experience. They fought on, trying in vain to push the demons back, despite the hopelessness of the situation. The Rift kept spitting out a hoard of demons, spirits pulled into the mortal realm against their will, shrieking and howling their distress to the skies above.

That’s when he saw her.

She had reached the top of the stairs and without a moments’ hesitation, _stepped_ , pulling herself onto the battlefield, the human Seeker Cassandra right behind her.

Within a flash, she was in between a fallen soldier and an approaching shade, blocking its incoming claws with a bow. How strange, that she used magic in conjunction with the mundane weapons of this day’s age. And such strange magic it was – like she had drawn it from the Fade itself. Solas watched as she pushed the creature back before grabbing the end of her bow and whacking it with as much force as she could. The creature shuffled backwards with a cry, reaching up with clawed hands to protect its face. She took a single step forwards, nocking an arrow into her bow before raising it.

She seemed to have muttered something before letting the arrow fly.

It pierced the creature’s throat. Black blood spurted from the wound to its neck, splattering onto the female elf. Then, with a final cry, the demon vanished. She lowered the bow and turned to the fallen soldier she had been defending, long dead. Solas glanced around, quickly noticing the lack of demons. He strode over to her, grabbing her wrist.

“Quickly! Before more come through!”

There was the loud sound of crackling energy, the Mark on her hand coming to life as it was thrust into closer proximity with the Rift. Lights flickered and sparked, closing the hole. Then, with one final explosion, it was done. The Rift had been sealed.

When her hand was let go of, the elven girl pulled it close to her chest. Then, she looked up.

The area where the Rift had once been had fallen silent. All that remained in the clearing was the quietly falling snow, the white continuing to drift down from the sky despite the fighting going on beneath it. It was oddly beautiful, almost like a dream; the death and destruction painted it in a grim light, a tragic tale in the making. After taking in the sight, the elven woman turned to face Solas.

 _‘What did you do?’_ the tilting of her head and her single raised eyebrow conveying her confusion, though she did not actually speak.

“ _I_ did nothing,” he replied, with a slightly amused half smile, “The credit is yours.”

She blinked, mouth parting as if she wasn’t sure what to make of his answer. But even so, despite her lack of voice and telling expressions, lying seemed not to be in her nature, and the apostate noticed. It was in the spark in her gaze, such a deep compelling blue that even he found it difficult to look away. It was such a sad sight, those sky blue orbs of hers. With slightly narrowed eyes, Solas gave a patient, yet calculating, smile.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that Mark upon your hand,” he said, nodding to the limb in question. “I theorized the Mark might be able to close the Rifts left in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.” She blinked up at him, wide eyes seeming to become wider.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra mused as she made her way to the duo. The apostate turned his attention to the warrior woman, glad to turn away from those piercing blue orbs that seemed to see straight through him.

“Possibly,” he replied.

The girl was too calm. Much too calm.

The Elvhen apostate turned back to her, folding his hands together.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

What is she hiding?

In truth, he found the situation humorous. A quickling elf held the very Mark which would save them all, despite it being too powerful to be left alone in a mortal’s hands. And to seemingly be unable to speak! Yet even so... Her eyes barely concealed deception, the blue so similar to the sky of this day and age, expansive and seemingly all-knowing. They hid curiosity, expression, a terrible, terrible sadness, but also revealed that there was something different about her. How passing strange.

The clearing of a throat gained his attention.

“Good to know! And here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

The Marked snorted, turning to face the wise cracking, crossbow wielding dwarf. The short man was brushing off some dust from his shoulders, leftovers of the demons from before, no doubt. Solas found himself chuckling, the human Seeker opting instead to roll her eyes.

The elven woman blinked at the dwarf, tilting her head again. She then gestured at the sky, a swift wave of a finger, before slicing the same finger across her throat like a knife. _‘That implies that we live to see forever,’_ or _‘Unless the sky sees fit to kill us first,’_ it seemed to say.

“Grim _and_ fatalistic? You remind me of someone I know,” the dwarf grinned, “And it’s Varric. Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” The last comment was accompanied with a wink to Cassandra. The warrior simpler responded to the jab with a nasty glare, one that Solas believed to be reserved especially for the dwarf under scrutiny.

The elven girl caught his attention once again by gesturing to Cassandra, before pointing at Varric. _‘Are you with Cassandra and the Chantry?’_

At this, Solas found himself snorting, glancing at the girl out of the corner of his eye.

“Was that a serious question?” Her eyes flashed briefly before returning her attention to the dwarf. Solas blinked. Was that a flicker of amusement he saw?

“I’m technically a prisoner, like you Mystery.” The stone child said. She blinked in confusion.

 _‘Mystery?’_ Varric gave a loud laugh, shaking his head.

“Walking out of an explosion that killed hundreds, with barely a scratch? And no one knows how it happened? And the one person who could isn’t saying a word about it?” he asked, raising his arms questioningly, “Sounds like a mystery to m-”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” Cassandra interrupted, “ _Obviously_ , that is no longer necessary.”

“But I’m still here, aren’t I? Looks like it’ll be a while too, considering current events…” He gave a vague gesture to the chaos and destruction that currently surrounded them. The Marked shrugged. Then she gave a nod to the dwarf and a slight smile.

_‘Well, it’s nice to meet you.’_

Solas found that he couldn’t hold his tongue at that.

“You might reconsider that stance, in time,” he said.

The woman turned her head to him, raising a single eyebrow, to which the impish grin that overcame him changed to that of an overly exaggerated innocent expression.

She shook her head, a huff of air passing between her lips, the smile that had appeared on her face when greeting the dwarf growing a hint larger before disappearing.

Varric seemed to be enjoying the playful banter that Solas presented, putting a hand over his heart.

“You wound me, Chuckles! But I’m sure we’ll become _great_ friends in the valley.”

“Absolutely not!” The Seeker placed her hands on her hips, sighing. Then, she returned her gaze to the stone child, a frown set about her features. “Your help was much appreciated Varric-”

It wasn’t.

“-but…”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric asked, neatly cutting the warrior off. “Your men aren’t in control anymore. You _need_ me.”

The warrior woman certainly didn't appreciate being cut off. Nor did she seem to appreciate the reality check that she had been given. But instead of dismissing it, the Seeker growled, turning away. The honesty of Varric’s offer seemed to have touched the girl, and the female elf smiled slightly.

Solas, who had fallen silent after his previous witty banter, coughed lightly to get her attention. She turned to him, tilting her head.

“I am Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he said, bowing his head in greeting. His eyes quickly snapped back up to meet hers. “I am pleased to see you still live.” To this, Varric responded with a chuckle.

“He actually means to say that he kept the Mark from killing you while you slept.”

Another raised eyebrow. She placed a hand on her hip, and looked up at the other elf (because he was at least a good ten centimeters taller), blinking again.

She gestured to him and then the Mark on her hand, suspicion clouding her gaze. Once again, the Elvhen apostate noticed the over exaggeration. His eyes narrowed a fraction, but he didn’t comment when the Seeker spoke up.

“Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra replied. She seemed to have calmed down from her annoyance earlier, coming back over to their little group. “Unlike most mages of the Circle, he possesses knowledge that those who live outside our way of life would not consider.”

“Technically, _all_ mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” Solas stated, glancing over at the warrior. “Though, she is correct.”

He returned his attention to the girl quickly, folding his hands behind his back.

“My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.”

She tilted her head as if noting the mild distaste that he could not keep out of his tone, but said nothing. He continued on, silently acknowledging the motion with the slightest twitch of his eyebrow.

“I came to offer whatever help I could with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of one's origin.” He then turned to Cassandra.

“Cassandra, you should know: the magic that created the Breach is unlike any I have seen.” He glanced at the elven girl, to which she narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. There was a brief pause as the mage caught her gaze, then he gave an indiscernible nod before he continued. “Your prisoner is no mage. Even so, I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power.”

How odd, he wondered. She _stepped_ to defend that soldier, despite the fact that he was dying. Why does she not wish to mention it?

The human gave a nod, before turning. In the distance was the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“We must get to the forward camp,” she said, “From there, we shall decide how best to assault the Temple remains.” And with that, she stepped over a piece of rubble and gestured for them to follow.

As Solas passed the elven girl, he gave her a look. What a strange one, she turned out to be. How strange and… almost real. But no, the latter might have just been his imagination. She gave him a nod, one which he returned after a few seconds, before he then followed after Cassandra.

He would have much to consider concerning her, it seemed.

The whole world had suddenly taken a dive, turning on its axle and throwing everything out of shape. The Breach had only made it worse.

Everything had changed. And Solas swore that he would fix it and help his People.

Even if he died trying.

* * *

They continued down the white slope of the mountain, the shadow from the large landmass blocking the sun from view. The footprints of Varric and Cassandra were deeper and left imprints in the snow behind them. The elves, on the other hand, left lighter marks, the kind which would easily blow away with the wind that would no doubt come later that night.

“You know, I don't think you've ever mentioned what your name was, Mystery,” the dwarf eventually said. Solas turned his head slightly, ears twitching. She seemed to notice, but again, didn’t comment. Instead, she shrugged in response, not saying a word. At this, Varric let out a chuckle.

“Huh, a real Mystery, that’s for sure.”

Solas then turned to look at them over his shoulder.

“You are Dalish, are you not? And clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?” He needed to know what one of the wanderers had been doing amongst the humans. It might have been the reason as to why his plan went so very, very wrong.

She tapped her temple, her finger falling on the markings that adorned her forehead, then gestured to him. _‘What do you know of the Dalish?’_

“I have wandered many roads in my time,” he replied, “And crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.” His tone was cold, stiff, and uncomfortably impassive. Indeed, the People had fallen so far from their original greatness, and to think that even despite his warnings, they do not listen. They push away any hint of truth, instead clinging to the remnants of knowledge that they salvaged, like a great bear guarding her cubs.

Her gaze suddenly became mournful, so very sad. Solas’ gut actually lurched at the almost heartbroken expression, but he held himself back from reacting. She pointed at her chest as she gestured at him with the other hand, before touching the two together.

 _‘We are of the same people, Solas.’_ Somehow, he knew that she meant what she ‘said’. He turned his head away. Her eyes held a truth that he did not wish to acknowledge.

“The Dalish I met felt… differently on the subject.”

“Can't you elves all just get along…?” Varric asked.

The group fell into an awkward silence. As they walked however, Solas felt the slightest tug on his sleeve. He looked down to the elven woman, so much shorter than himself. Her sky blue gaze met his, so full of sorrow. She poked him in the chest gently before pointing at herself.

 _‘I consider you one of_ my _People.’_

His eyes met hers, blinking in concealed surprise. And she matched the look, staring long and hard before finally, with seemingly much reluctance, turning away and letting go. He watched as she then strode on ahead to walk beside the Seeker.

That’s strange though, he found himself thinking.

Why is it, that even beside the human woman, did she seem to still walk alone?


	2. Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE BE SPOILERS  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> Title: A Sky Full of Compassion  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Solas/F!Lavellan  
> Summary: “When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.” – Khalil Gibran
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> “Words are singularly the most powerful force available to humanity. We can choose to use this force constructively with words of encouragement, or destructively using words of despair. Words have energy and power with the ability to hinder, to hurt, to harm, to humiliate, and to humble.” – Yehuda Berg

_Mahanon of clan Avarilion was a proud Dalish warrior._

_Brash, arrogant, ignorant as they come. Elgar’nan’s marking was inscribed into his face, an entire surface covered with swooping lines (swooping is bad, bad things happened when there was swooping involved). Headstrong, rushing into battle – the fight sings in his veins, twisting, churning, shield raising, anger overpowering reason._

_Flashing amber eyes whenever disagreed with, a curled lip turning into an unpleasant sneer._

_He didn’t like her, not one bit._

_She had changed, changed too much. Their clans had known each other well, he had crushed on her for a long time. She had been sweet, too sweet. But she became different, too different. Then she had left. And he was left heart broken._

_He pined, unable to let her go, wishing, dreaming. Convincing her to possibly return._

_She didn’t expect to see him. She didn’t expect him to become the Herald._

_She angered him with her sudden shift, her strange new, though old, devotion to a god not their own (he believed she would follow Ghilan’nain, how sweet and shy she was). But no, changed loyalty, change of personality, assertive, confident, a dangerous beauty that he could not attain._

_And so very, very proud._

_Head held high in defiance, despite yelling and arguments. Sky blue eyes flashing, yet so very, very sad. Always glancing sadly at the nobody, the blasphemous liar, the one who thought he knew everything. The lone wolf, the mage of unknown origin._

_How he hated him._

_How he hated what he stood for, how he hated how he caught her eye, how he spoke to her so easily, how she was so willing to speak to him and only him. How Mahanon hated him._

_So he pushed him away. He didn’t take the apostate with him when he brought her, didn’t take her when he brought him._

_He convinced her with his hate that the Dalish weren’t worth saving._

_Desperate, heart shattering, her love of her people dissipating._

_Despair started to set in. And compassion slowly vanished._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name: Mahanon Avarilion
> 
> Race: Elf
> 
> Class: Warrior (Sword and shield)
> 
> Personality: Easily angered; brash; extremely arrogant; especially proud of his heritage; dislikes anyone who challenges his beliefs; very superstitious
> 
> Characteristics: Elgar’nan’s marking (full face design); short dark brown hair; broken nose; freckles; amber eyes that flash when he’s angered
> 
> Character Description: “Proud, too proud. Greatly dislikes the humans with their height, their faces, their thirst for the blood of his people. His pride greatly effects his relationships.
> 
> “Prefers being alone. There are too many humans, too many flat-ears. He misses his home, his clan, his true family. With her there, it tears him in two. She is a reminder, but a welcome sight at the same time. It confuses him.
> 
> “He finds comfort in the memories and the letters. Too proud to be grateful to the Diplomat, but he grudgingly thanks her all the same.
> 
> “Magic makes him wary, wary and suspicious. It is undefined, a mystery, a danger. That’s what the Keeper said. ‘Even though we wield it, it is still extremely dangerous. Find comfort in your normality.’ He holds that reminder close to his heart.
> 
> “Argues often when disagreed with. Some of it is pride, some of it is inferiority. Prefers to be right – it reassures him that he is still valued. Even so, he greatly dislikes the title. He views it as a curse.
> 
> “Wonders often what would have happened if he didn’t survive. It hurts him mentally, makes the song he sings broken and hollow. He thinks she would have made a better leader.”
> 
> Companions: Ellana (Crush; later turns to great dislike); Cassandra (Mutual dislike); Solas (Mutual dislike); Varric (Neutral); Sera (Mutual dislike); Vivienne (Mutual dislike); Iron Bull (Grudging respect); Blackwall (Mutual respect); Cole (One-sided dislike); Dorian (Neutral)
> 
> Advisors: Cullen (Mutual dislike); Leliana (Grudging respect); Josephine (Grudging respect)


	3. Coming of the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE BE SPOILERS  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> Title: A Sky Full of Compassion  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Solas/F!Lavellan  
> Summary: “When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.” – Khalil Gibran
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> “The evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming.” – Al Stewart

She seemed lost.

The voices of the Andrastian humans rose up in harmony, echoing in the snow filled valley around her. The notes, horribly out of tune but still beautiful, were sung out to the ruined sky above, forming, shaping. A belief turned real, if only for a moment. A mighty crescendo, seemingly drowning her in its strength. A song that sang of loss, but was also full of hope.

The sight was actually quite impressive.

Solas watched her, her white braided hair twisting and turning amongst the throng of people suddenly gathered around her. The fire reflected off the pure white strands, changing them to a fiery orange under the light of the moon. And such a bright light it was, a burning flame amidst the darkened shadows.

In that moment, he could believe that she was a beacon of hope for this world, a true leader, a Herald. Perhaps not one for Andraste, but a Herald and shepherd none the less.

Indeed, Solas thought, tilting his head and leaning against a nearby tent pole. A light akin to that of the time of Arlathan. He immediately chastised himself for such a rash thought – it was impossible.

There was no way that she could be…

A real poignant silence fell over the camp. Then, as one, a cheer of utter joy. It seemed that the humans’ faith had been restored. It was strange, Solas thought. To think that a song of such magnitude could return the faith of many was truly astounding.

His attention turned to her.

She was quietly being spoken to by Mother Giselle, the instigator of the song. Then, as the older woman walked away, her blue eyes immediately turned to him. They showed an expressive expectancy, as if she was aware that he wished to speak with her. That was something that Solas had come to expect from the Herald – there were many things she knew and many things that she should not know. Indeed, the things she did know were many, so many that even he had trouble keeping up sometimes. Yet, despite this almost all-knowing nature, she said not a word regarding it. It was odd.

He tilted his head, only breaking her gaze when he pushed himself off the tent pole and made his way out of the camp.

She needed to know of the orb’s purpose. And of its origin.

Even if they dared not listen, the Dalish did not need to fall further than they already had. Indeed, whenever he believed that it was not possible for the Dalish to fall even lower, something else would happen that would prove him wrong. It was both frustrating and greatly saddening, but at the same time, strangely fascinating.

As he waited for her, his hands lit the nearby brazier alight then folded themselves behind his back.

She was an enigma.

Allying with the rebel mages, despite their involvement with the plot that Alexius devised to see her destroyed was not what he had expected. Indeed, the move itself ensured that the mages were loyal and somewhat happy with their freedom. He had no doubts that, if the Chantry would have its way, the mages would return to their gilded cages, locked even tighter than they were before the Mage-Templar war. That was unless the Herald had a say in the matter. Indeed, the Elvhen mage believed that she would protest, and quite loudly at that, in the event that such a thing were to happen.

The Templars themselves were more or less gone, much to Solas’ own relief. It was made obvious with their involvement in the destruction of Haven. Their usage of the red lyrium sent the message loud and clear. The Commander and the Seeker might believe that after Corypheus was gone, they might be able to rebuild the group, but Solas had his own doubts on that matter. The Herald herself did not seem like the type to support the Templars in much of anything. He had no doubt that it might come to the point when the fledgling Inquisition would stretch out its wings, their new leader at its helm, to smack down the remnants of the Templar organization.

A tug at his sleeve. When he turned to look at her, blue eyes stared up at him, holding his gaze.

“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting,” he said, giving a nod and a slight bow, “It was a hard-won task, _lethallan_ , worthy of pride… Save one detail.”

She tilted her head, letting her hands fold in front of her, listening patiently.

“The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours,” Solas revealed. She blinked. There was something in her eyes, her seemingly all-knowing eyes, something that hinted more than just mild curiosity. It was not surprise, nor shock. He did not linger on the observation however. The information he was about to let her know of was too important to withhold.

“Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived,” he urged, “And we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn that the orb is of our people.”

She gave a determined nod, her eyes hardening. She then cupped her hands together, forming a ball shape, then brushed his arm with it before tapping her forehead. _‘Alright, what is it and how do you know about it?’_

“Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods,” he replied, acknowledging her question, “Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire.”

Not a complete lie, but also not the complete truth. He knew from her slightly narrowed eyes though that she seemed to have caught onto something. Had he let something slip? But no, based on her silence, Solas knew that even if she had discovered something, she would not say a word. Literally and figuratively. He was grateful for that, even if it might only be a matter of time before she would ask the question related to it.

“But however Corypheus came to it,” he continued, “the orb _is_ elvhen, and with it, he threatens the very heart of human faith.”

She nodded, almost thoughtfully. She then mimicked building a house of some sort with her hands. She reached up to tap her nose, gesturing to the mountains around them, then resumed the building of the house. As it was completed, she then interlaced her fingers together, pulling lightly to indicate that it was sealed tightly. Solas nodded in response.

“Exactly. Their trust will be an advantage you must have. By guiding them to a safe place, a place to call a home, you will be above reproach, being the most trusted of them all.”

At this, she smiled, clapping her hands together as if she were delighted by something that he had said. Solas raised an eyebrow in genuine confusion. But the thought quickly melted away into surprise when she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

He immediately stiffened, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion of his personal space. However, as her arms around him failed to loosen, he found himself relaxing. As he placed his hands on her hips to steady the both of them, he could not help but notice how small she actually was. Indeed, he could remember how tiny she had been when chained to the floor of the dark and gloomy cell back at Haven, but that had seemed so long ago.

To think it had only been a few months since this all began.

He felt a slight movement and looked down at her, watching as she actually _nuzzled_ into his chest. He felt his heart tighten and his mouth go dry as he watched her. Such a tiny creature, seemingly taking comfort in the embrace of a beast, a monster. He honestly did not know what he had done to deserve such a timid, desperate gesture.

And then, a soft sound, a tiny murmur. He would have mistaken it for a simple breeze if he had been standing further away. It was so quiet, easily missed unless one listened very, very carefully. In fact, he was almost entirely certain it was just his imagination.

“ _Thank you_.”


	4. Obduracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE BE SPOILERS  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> Title: A Sky Full of Compassion  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Solas/F!Lavellan  
> Summary: “When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.” – Khalil Gibran
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> “Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence.” – John Adams

_Cancordia Trevelyan liked to keep to herself._

_Quiet and soft spoken, a hell of a shot with a bow. Liked to stay in the back, pinning down her enemies. Her height made her seem small, delicate. It gave her an edge, made people ignore her. She preferred it that way._

_His stories were interesting. They reminded her of the ones her father told her, of dashing Templars in shining armor and mages trapped in towers. They were full of mystery, daring, intrigue, romance. All of the things little girls wanted to hear._

_Then her mother had…_ changed _._

_She began to hate them, the Templars in their shiny armor (it might as well have been covered in blood, her mother’s blood). And that man, that proud Commander, represented everything that she hated._

_It was easier with the apostate, to speak to him, to listen to his stories. He had a calming influence. The Commander didn’t appreciate it. And neither did_ she _._

_She was a strange one, her eyes so like the sky, her hair like that of a burning flame. She had often tried to speak to the elven woman, but she would distance herself, withdrew instead of intervened, questioned instead of answered. The only one she would open up to was the apostate._

_Cancordia asked him why she always came to him. He had no answer, no way to explain the strange relationship between himself and the other elf. But when she spoke to the elven woman, she would not say a word, her lips pinching into a tight line, her eyes narrowing, withdrawing even further._

_So she kept pushing. She just wanted to help, she wanted to know why she always looked so sad, why she only brightened up whenever she was with the apostate. And she wanted her to help her understand that unreadable look the Commander always gave her._

_She pushed and pushed and pushed._

_And because of this,_ she _began to believe that stubbornness was a disgusting, annoying trait in a person._

_She convinced her with her obduracy that everything was because of her refusal to just lie down and die._

_The line between perseverance and stubbornness began to blur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Created by XxHeartMenderxX (specifically asked for on Fanfiction.net)
> 
> Name: Cancordia Trevelyan
> 
> Race: Human
> 
> Class: Rogue (bow)
> 
> Personality: Quiet; a loner; self-sacrificing; wary of Templars and the Order; helpful; always second guessing herself; lover of stories
> 
> Characteristics: Dark brown (almost black) hair in a low ponytail; short (4’9” – 5’1”); hazel eyes; light freckles; missing left pinkie finger
> 
> Character Description: “A loner. Uncomfortable with all of their eyes on her. It makes her freeze, draw into herself. She doesn’t like the attention, so she hides up in the rafters with the birds. The Nightingale doesn’t like it.
> 
> “Tries her hardest to help, even though she likes hiding in the shadows – she and Compassion were often found in each other’s company, helping where it is needed most.
> 
> “She loved her mother dearly, even with her magic. It hurt her when she became unconnected, unfeeling, unresponsive to emotions. She hates them for what they did, the Templars with their broad swords and righteousness. Uncomfortable around the Seeker, the Commander, and the Enchanter, all of whom support the Circle’s goal.
> 
> “She loves stories, loves listening to the Storyteller, the Liar, and the Wolf talk of their adventures; unending tales of wonder and amazement.
> 
> “Unbelieving, despite the bone fate has thrown her. It frustrates the Seeker.
> 
> “Close, yet distant to the Commander. An unexplainable attraction, despite mutual dislike. Or mutual respect. It confuses both of them. The Joker finds it amusing.”
> 
> Companions: Ellana (Neutral); Cassandra (Neutral); Solas (Mutual respect); Varric (Best friend); Sera (Neutral); Vivienne (Grudging respect); Iron Bull (Friend); Blackwall (Friend); Dorian (Neutral); Cole (Friend)
> 
> Advisors: Cullen (It’s complicated); Leliana (Mutual respect); Josephine (Respected consultant)


	5. And the Whole World Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE BE SPOILERS  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> Title: A Sky Full of Compassion  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Solas/F!Lavellan  
> Summary: “When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.” – Khalil Gibran
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> “Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For, indeed, that’s all who ever have.” – Margaret Mead

Indeed, the Herald, no, the _Inquisitor_ was an interesting woman.

Her charisma, even without speaking, was immense. She had taken to the role of being Herald like an experienced mother watching over children. She inspired hope in those around her. She was always so willing to learn, and would often seek him out in order to do so. She would make an excellent leader for the Inquisition.

She was also intelligent. It was evident in the way she was able to discern where an enemy’s weak point was, the way she held her bow with experience. It was in the way she was able to tell what spell an enemy mage was about to use, in the way she easily hid her own magic from the Templars and Sister Nightingale’s knowledge, an impressive feat. It was in the way that out of all of them, her knowledge paralleled his own, almost putting them on equal footing. It was in the way they would debate for many long hours while on the road, going back and forth at such a speed that even the Tevinter magister and the Circle Enchanter found it difficult to keep up. The fact that she did so without even speaking was commendable.

However, Solas knew that there was something dark to her – it was in the way she watched their companions, sitting slightly away from everyone else, in the way that she would listen to his words, soaking up everything he said with a knowing glint in her eye. It was in the way she was cautious around everyone, with the exception of himself. It was like she was hiding a secret, a secret so large that she was afraid of others finding out. Except him.

A secret so deeply ingrained in her that she hid it from view from all. He himself could only brush the surface of whatever it was, and even then, he could not glean much. Varric’s nickname for her rang true. A real ‘Mystery’.

In order to learn more about her, as well as to tell her a bit more about himself, Solas brought her into the Fade, sharing his dream of Haven before it was attacked. His curiosity was peaked when he realized that she was well aware that they were in the Fade, despite not being there for very long.

Once again, she had surprised him.

They had just left the Chantry building, him explaining to her his feelings during that very first attack, many, many months before.

“You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal, sent physically through the Fade?” he questioned. He turned to her, spreading his arms wide in emphasis.

“I was frustrated. Frightened,” he confessed. “The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra… Or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

The Inquisitor tilted her head, white bangs falling into her eyes as she looked at him. She pointed to the sky with a single finger, making a circle, then gestured to him. _‘The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?’_

“Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me.” At this, she raised an eyebrow, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Solas shrugged, giving a wry grin.

“I never said it was a good plan.”

He turned to face the glowing green scar in the sky, its light even brighter in memory, holding out a hand.

“I told myself: ‘One more attempt to seal the Rifts’.” Letting it drop to his side, Solas then frowned. “I tried, and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them.

“I watched the Rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” Taking a deep breath, he turned back to her, folding his hands behind his back and giving her an appraising look.

“‘It seems you hold the key to our salvation,’” he quoted, “You had sealed it with a gesture… And right then, I felt the whole world change.”

He meant it as an expression, a term to describe how his hopes were lifted at her ability. He had meant to describe how, at the closing of that first Rift, his confidence returned, that the People wouldn’t be subjected to slavery for that much longer. However, it seemed that she hadn’t taken the expression in the way he intended.

Instead, she slowly blinked, a hand moving to rest on her hip. The movement immediately drew his attention to one of her sharp eyebrows raising as she stared at him, her blue eyes considering. He could feel them, piercing, burning, staring right through him. There was a twitch to her lips, as if she was struggling to keep from smiling.

Without gesturing, she asked her question with a simple shift of her posture: _‘Felt the whole world change?’_

“A figure of speech,” he replied, his own lips twitching. How perceptive of her. She continued to surprise him. Indeed, her deeds and persuasion, her confidence and pride drew her to him, though he knew not why. She was a mystery that he very much wished to solve.

She cautiously moved closer, a hand reaching up to brush his arm. Her eyes flickered up to look at him from under her eyelashes as she tilted her head. Solas felt his throat run dry.

“You change… everything,” he said hesitantly. Unconsciously, his body moved closer to hers. Her eyes fluttered, shyly flickering away, a tiny, seemingly self-conscious smile coming to her lips. Her hand reach up, tucking her white hair behind a pointed ear, as if she was deeply embarrassed.

He lightly coughed, looking away. What was this feeling?

It was a steady burn in his chest, an itching at his arms, a tingle that went up his spine. Her constant questions, her wide eyed curiosity drew him in. It was like the dreams he found himself in, entrancing and mesmerising with the knowledge that they contained. Yet, it was surprisingly different. She had a stronger pull. She was a walking, ‘talking’, _real_ mystery, unlike anything he had ever seen.

He was captivated.

There was a tug on his arm. As he turned to look at her, lips parting in a half-formed question, a hand touched his face. The words died out before he even spoke as he found himself taken hostage, her sky blue eyes locking with his, freezing him in place.

Pressure on his cheek made his eyes shut. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, his hands finding their way to her waist and pulling her closer. The press of her lips brushed his cheek, making their way to his chin, then to the underside of his jaw. It was a flutter, a soft breeze against him, but never once did it reach his lips. In fact, it was as if she wasn’t even there to begin with, a figment of his imagination. Just a wisp, a memory long forgotten, solid, yet he feared that if he pulled her even closer, she would dissipate. He sighed, opening his eyes to look at her.

She was so close, her hands reaching around his neck and her body pressed against his in order to kiss his face. She was staring at him, and Solas could feel the connection, like charged lightning begging to be unleashed.

He wanted to kiss her.

However…

“We shouldn’t,” he found himself saying, breathing heavily despite himself. “This isn’t right. Not even here.”

And as he stared at her, he saw her eyes. Sorrow and understanding filled them, despite the threatening of tears that formed in her gaze. It made his chest ache in an unexplainable agony, one that he could only compare with when he first awoke from _Uthenera_. But even so, they shouldn’t. He was Fen’Harel, He Who Walked Alone, the Dread Wolf, and she…

“It is probably best if you… Wake up.”

… And she wasn’t _real_ , no matter how much he wished she was.


	6. Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE BE SPOILERS  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> Title: A Sky Full of Compassion  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Solas/F!Lavellan  
> Summary: “When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.” – Khalil Gibran
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> “Vengeance is the act of turning anger in on yourself. On the surface it may be directed at someone else, but it is a sure fire recipe for arresting emotional recovery.” – Jane Goldman

_Sanzil was never sure what to think of her._

_She fought onwards, never stopping, never giving up. He thought that her stubbornness was admirable, but also brash and too aggressive. Contradictorily, she was extremely cautious, careful, suspicious of the Inquisition. She covered her tracks well, too well._

_She was strange._

_There was an anger to her, a righteous anger that consumed her. She searched for justice, for what, he did not know. She wanted answers, always curious: the apostate was fond of her. That was, truly, all he knew._

_The Nightingale would search for answers, but would find nothing. Not even his own contacts could find anything. A mystery with no solution._

_Could she be trusted? Unclear, hazy, unsure._

_Better safe than sorry._

_A plan was created. A vile taste in his mouth as he led them forwards, through a place he couldn’t remember the name of. And from the shadows, a single arrow._

_A lone arrow, a poisoned tip. Fast-acting, the death of which would be painless if it hit its mark._

_It missed, but it hit._

_She fell with a scream, the arrow tearing, the poison searing through the vein it entered._

_The apostate was devastated as there was nothing that could be done. She was dying. A slow death, the arrow missed her heart. Unbearable pain with no cure, no way to ease the suffering except a quick death, a mercy kill._

_She knew the truth however._

_The most trusted can betray you, despite the seeking of justice._

_Vengeance boiled to the surface._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Created by starryskyondragon’sback (specifically asked for on Fanfiction.net)
> 
> Name: Sanzil Cadash
> 
> Race: Dwarf
> 
> Class: Rogue (duel wielding)
> 
> Personality: Doesn’t talk much; serious, but loves jokes; strangely lucky
> 
> Characteristics: Tattoos on his back for each person he’s killed for his family; spares Blackwall; prefers finding other solutions to problems
> 
> Character Description: “He was born out of lies and looks just like his mother. His father never believed in his legitimacy, but he supposes that it worked out for him in the end. Learning to kill or be killed was a lesson well learned, he reasoned.
> 
> “His brother hates him with a passion, but he can’t bring himself to care. Well, except to watch his back, but even then. His sister disappeared and sometimes he wonders where she might have gone. But then he reminds himself that she’s probably better off far away from the rest of them.
> 
> “He’s not sure what he thinks of his mother. But her death made things worse. It makes him wonder if it would have been better to not grow up with his father.
> 
> “He sees his status and title as a small blessing, even if he doesn’t believe. It’s better this way, easier to get out and break free from his feelings and obligations, from the broken home and the soured relations.
> 
> “His lover and the little girl, his daughter he reminds himself, are hidden away where his father can’t find them. It’s better this way, they would never have been a normal family anyway. The mother tells him that he’s free from his obligations to them. She’s moved on already, and he should too. He’s hesitant, but he understands.”
> 
> Companions: Ellana (Neutral); Cassandra (Mutual respect); Solas (Friend); Varric (Mutual respect); Sera (Friend); Vivienne (A bit scared of her); Iron Bull (Mutual respect); Blackwall (Before: mutual respect; after: betrayed); Dorian (Neutral); Cole (Mutual fascination)
> 
> Advisors: Cullen (Friend); Leliana (Respect and admiration); Josephine (Admires her from afar)


End file.
